Summary: Prince Fowler proposes but isn't happy with your answer.
A/N: Reader is plus sized and over 30 years old. No other physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Ageism, Body/fat shaming, Sexism (Patriarchal Society). Please let me know if I missed any!
Word Count: 1.1k
Part of the Royal Vows AU.
Previous -- Next
As Nick heads back to his own kingdom, you and your family are at the airport to see him off. Well, all your family except Evie and Mother. The cover story remains that your youngest sister has fallen ill and Mother is looking after her. Her supporters eye you with disdain as rumors circulate she's sick with a broken heart because you stole her Prince Charming.
Though you're still shy about having so many cameras on you after years without, you cannot deny Nick his goodbye kiss. Not only because it would be bad press, but also because you do enjoy his kisses. They make you feel wanted as much they make you hot and bothered.
However, it is still a photo shoot so you make sure to kiss him in a way that shows your wedding ring. Apparently it's been the ring of the Queen of Hoviriand for several generations. While he is not yet king, with Nick's father being so frail, it is understood that his coronation will be held in conjunction with the wedding. Thus, you will be made a wife and a queen on the same day. Quite the upgrade from a lonely spinster princess.
Nick wishes he didn't have to leave you, but a Crown Prince, a soon-to-be King, cannot be away from his kingdom for long. He trusts Bucky to put out any fires, but his brother was never really good at running things long-term. Especially with both of their little brothers being so distracted, one with grief, the other with a relatively new marriage.
Before he gets onto his plane, he kneels in front of Pookie and gives the directive to protect you that all guard dogs trained in Hoviriand are taught. Though Nick doesn't understand the cute name for such a fierce looking dog, he has to admit Pookie is already taking to it, and to you.
"The next time we meet, you will be greeted by an adoring crowd," Nick promises.
"We shall have to see," you smile shyly. "Until then, my future husband, please stay safe."
"For you, of course," he smiles before kissing the back of your hand.
Back at the palace you can hear Evie's screams of anger almost as soon as you enter.
Next to you, Lexie lets out a sigh. "Is it bad I'd hoped she'd ruin her voice by now?"
"No, no it isn't," you reassure. "Perhaps we should stay out of the sleeping wing for a while. Well, at least I should."
"I'll stay with you," Lexie promises. "I can't imagine she'll be any happier at seeing me."
"It's not as if I chose him! I even went out of my way to try to put you both in his path."
"I know. But I don't think she'll ever see it that way. It's certainly not your fault that Prince Nick seemed to choose you straight away."
"He is a very confusing man," you shake your head.
"At the very least, he's open and honest about his wants. He'll never leave you guessing."
There's a melancholy tone in your sister's voice that has you worried. You've suspected she's had a crush on someone but has been to hesitant to say anything. Perhaps the man, or woman, is giving her mixed signals.
Your phone goes off and you take a look. You've been trying to balance the sudden whirlwind of PR events with your regular activities, but it's been difficult.
Evie isn't the only one upset that you're marrying Nick. Unlike with her, though, the people you regularly work with are mainly scared about the funding for their projects. If you leave without the proper paperwork being filed first, a lot of people could be out of work. Many projects for the people of Zotia will be left in limbo.
Honestly, you're grateful for this time between engagement and marriage where you can work everything out. Between Mother, Lexie and your main servant, you know your things will be packed and taken care of. Including the toys you'd told Nick about. That just leaves you and Pookie to handle the changing of the guard that will keep things running.
Your shoulders drop as you realize how busy your month is going to be. Will you even have time for fittings for the wedding dress? Well, you'll have to find the time. Mother will be insistent and it really should be a priority. You're representing your entire kingdom, after all. You need to make sure to give a good impression to the people of your new home.
"YOU!" Evie's angry scream gets your attention. "You've ruined my life! I could've been a queen! But now what chance do I have?! There are only so many kingdoms you know!"
As she storms at you, Pookie steps in front of you and growls.
"Oh don't you dare!" she shouts the dog, but he doesn't stand down. "Ugh. Then again, if Prince Fowler thinks a mangy mutt like this is an acceptable gift, it makes sense that he'd want you instead of me."
"I suppose," you shrug. "Now leave us alone. I've got a lot of work to do."
"You should be apologizing! You stole my chance at happiness!"
"It's not her fault, or yours, that Prince Fowler didn't choose you," Lexi intervenes.
"You're conspiring against me, too? I suppose the boring sister would side with the ugly one."
"Evelyn, that's enough!" you snap, startling her. "You are a princess of a noble blood line. It's time you acted like it. Making fun of me is one thing, but you will leave Lexie and Pookie out of your attacks. Understood?"
Evie huffs and goes to turn away but you're not having it.
"Evelyn!" you shout, using the most authoritative tone you've ever used.
"I understand," she sneers before stomping off.
"When you're helping Mother with the wedding plans, please make sure she stays here?" you plead with Lexie.
"I was already planning on doing so," she sighs. "Thanks for standing up for me," she adds with a big hug.
"It's the least I can do considering I'm going to be leaving you with her."
"Eh, maybe I'll just ask Maggie if I can move in with her and her husband. Considering her pregnancy, she could probably use the help."
"Smart."
Leaning down you give Pookie some scritches.
"And you were so brave! You are such a good boy, keeping me safe!" you coo as his tail wags.
Standing back up, you look between your phone, your sister and your puppy.
Prompt: “Hit me again. I’m just waiting for an excuse.” | WRATH week of my Summer of Sin event
Pairing: Ex-boyfriend's dad mafia boss!Nick Fowler x Female reader
Word Count: 555 words
Tags: age gap (not depicted but it’s there. both are adults); slapping; physical violence; toxic dynamics; reader is depicted to have been physically hurt by her ex-boyfriend; anger & jealousy; heavy sexual tension; nick fowler is in the mafia !!
In a desperate fit of anger, you slam the door in this man’s face the second you see him standing there, impeccably dressed in a dark coat that screams money, a duffel bag in one hand. Nick Fowler, father to the boy (not a man) you decided to date for a few months before you realized that he preferred the company of hookers to your own, catches the door with a firm palm before it can latch, and steps inside your apartment like he owns the place.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he says, his voice all too smooth, quietly closing the door behind him. His blue eyes scan your bruised cheek and the split lip which he recognizes immediately as remnants from the fight with his son last night, and a muscle in his jaw tightens. “I came to drop some clothes you left at the house. And… sincerely, to apologize for my son. That’s not how a real man should act toward a woman who has never wronged him. I’m sorry.”
The audacity makes your blood boil. Sorry? You’ve heard stories. You know Nick has put his hands on women, left them worse than you are now. The difference, apparently, lies in the fact that you have never wronged his son, and still ended up with shattered glass on your living room after months of being treated like property.
“You’re sorry? Your son came after me like a rabid dog and you show up with laundry and a half-assed apology?”
Before you can think, your hand flies out and a slap cracks across his cheek, sharp and, quiet honestly, very satisfying. His head barely moves, but the sound echoes in the room.
But when he licks his lips and looks at you again, faint red mark blooming where your palm struck, he looks more intrigued than any other dangerous feeling.
“Hit me again,” he says, stepping closer until you’re backed against the couch. “I’m just waiting for an excuse.”
Your heart stammers. Terrified, is what you should be; after all, this is Nick Fowler, a man who pulls strings that topple empires. He could hurt you, really hurt you. Instead, you feel blinded by rage and so you slap him again, harder this time, and his head snaps slightly to the side. He sets the duffel bag down without breaking eye contact, then braces one large hand on the couch beside your hip, the other coming up to cradle your chin, thumb brushing your bruised lip with surprising gentleness.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, crowding you fully now. “Get it all out, sweetheart, I can take it. Unlike that poor excuse for a son I raised.”
You’re breathing hard, chest brushing his. The apology, the clothes, are bullshit excuses, you realize. He came for you, to see you crack under the tension that had always simmered between you in stolen glances over family dinners.
“You think you can just walk in here and—” Words are cut off when he leans in, lips hovering inches from yours, pink, wet, calling your name like a siren song. Kiss me.
“I think you’ve been wasting time on the wrong Fowler,” he says quietly, and you swear his lips brush your top one for a millisecond when he says his last name. “Maybe it’s time you stop.”
new place secured. old place half-packed. everything is in boxes, furniture is half taken apart and I am so tired my brain has apparently decided the only reasonable coping mechanism is imagining various fictional babes absolutely ruining me in both holes houses
because there is something about moving that is so…
old place, last memory.
rooms half empty. boxes stacked everywhere. the bed already stripped or dismantled. that weird echo that happens when a home is no longer fully a home.
and then him deciding, actually, no.
the last thing you remember about this room is not stress. not packing tape... not exhaustion.
it’s him.
he'll have you bent over moving boxes. pressed against bare walls. caught on half-constructed furniture. one last claim before the door closes for good.
The new place?
oh, that is worse.
because now it is all blank walls and unopened boxes and keys on the kitchen bench. no proper bedframe. mattress maybe still on the floor. everything unfamiliar and echoing and waiting...
and he cannot keep his hands to himself there either.
because apparently he is just as determined to claim you in the new place before anything else does.
before the couch has a spot.
before anything's unpacked.
before the house has any memories at all.
Him.. he gets to be the the first anything
first kiss against the hallway wall. Feel of his hands under your shirt in the kitchen. Needing to be the the reason the neighbours know his name before introductions have even happened...ensuring that the very first memory etched into these new walls is the sound of you both fucking.
♡⸝⸝ pairing | nick fowler x reader
♡⸝⸝ summary | in the aftermath of too many drinks, you show nick fowler what it means to truly beg.
♡⸝⸝ warnings | MDNI 18+ | smut !! | edging, drinking, reader is said to be inexperienced, age gap mention but everyone is of age JUST LIKE YOU SHOULD BE IF YOU CONTINUE READING, slight leg humping, nick has a bush and sometimes has a hard time getting it up, one word in romanian that is translated in brackets
♡⸝⸝ word count | 500
♡⸝⸝ bunny purrs | day three of the beautiful @theoracleofsin's summer of sin event !! please disregard that this is late...i never was a punctual bunny, i do apologize. my first dove is alive fic, i hope you enjoy 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
please note that just because i write about it doesn't mean i condone it. you are responsible for your own media consumption and i've stated the warnings. turn around now if anything here makes you uncomfortable. this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. hate comments will be met with sarcasm + wit + a strong hammer ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
"fuck."
the curse was mumbled, nick's voice strained from being brought to an edge that you were keeping him suspended above, letting him think over and over that this was going to be the time you showed mercy.
but mercy wasn't currently in your vocabulary. not when a man who routinely folded and bent your body to his will was now yours to command.
starting so simply after far too many alcoholic drinks, when whiskey beget truth and honesty flowed much easier than thin lies. nick fowler, notorious double agent, and a man who so many feared let slip that he never begged. and you, with far too much inebriated confidence for someone so inexperienced, said that you could make him, if he wanted to test the theory.
surprisingly, he had obliged. still tipsy, you settled between his thighs with your head resting on the strong muscle watching in hazy appreciation as arousal took hold. consider this your favourite part of dating an older man. flaccidity took far longer to eradicate, giving you a true performance instead of the main act already being present when you were just arriving.
with the slightest touch of your fingertips, you drifted along the thickening ridge and the blooming veins. met with a strong twitch that had you already biting your lip in hopes of hearing a single syllable word. lost in the hypnotic, steady drip of clear fluid from the tip, smearing along the soft dusting of salt and pepper curls at the base of his stomach, your thigh draped over his. no sense in also prolonging your own pleasure.
you took to circling the sensitive head with your thumb, shuffling up so your tongue could give small playful swipes at the slit that had tremors radiating below you. your hand then enclosed on the velvet length with barely any pressure in a movement so languid it was like your body was moving through water.
your own hips bucked against the straining muscles of his thighs, your own breathy moans wafting across the slick mess on his abdomen. a giggle you couldn't suppress bubbled from your chest at just how quickly you taking your time was his undoing.
another deep hum followed by a string of curses in a language you didn't know, until the briefest of whispers from the man under you was please. halting the torturous strokes your head tipped up to meet his dark gaze.
"and here i thought begging didn't suit you," you murmured, triumphant, as you crawled up his torso until your knees bracketed his hips and his cock nestled neatly between your folds.
knowing he had conceded the challenge, a floodgate opened. garbled pleading in what you suspected were every language he knew. his hands - usually controlled now shook as they gripped onto the plush of your hips. nick lifted your body with ease, flushed red cock easily finding your entrance to slowly lower you down. "suits me when an ispită [temptress] like you bends my will."
𓂃 𓈒𓏸 pride i
pairing: nick fowler x reader
prompt: "you should be grateful I chose you. no one else is worthy of my touch.”
warnings: tension, alcohol mention, google translated romanian (im so sorry) . . .
word count: 438
a/n: eeep, i'm hoping that in doing this event, i can find some love for writing again and understand some new characters :") let just see ! i hope you enjoy <3
event masterlist || navigation
Polished shoes, trimmed suit, and a whisky that sloshed ever so subtly in his hand as you entered his office. Void of any other person, just the two of you with the minuscule squeak of his leather chair and the subtle scent of tobacco.
You didn't sit, not because you weren't asked to, but because you knew the rhythm, how Nick Fowler moved, the dance of an office meeting that starts with him sat down with his eyes on the cold drink in his palm.
"Do you know why," he started, voice low, a hum you could feel in your chest. "I asked you in here? Right now?"
Your hands clasped together in front of you, shuffling your feet, inhaling, waiting for an impact you don't know will come.
"I do." You answer.
"Tell me."
His eyes find you then, blue, unwavering. Expression simple, cryptic almost in its vacancy. Swallowing, you comply with a faint quiver of anxiety.
"The mission—"
Nick cuts you off, swirling the amber in his glass. "What mission?"
"Venice, Italy. Touristy place. The guy we need, Max, is on the run and found himself in Europe," you swallow around your nerves. "We slide in, make friends, be sweet, and get what we came there for."
"Which is?"
Swallowing again, your eyes slide from the veins on the back of his hand, to the edges of his suit, the collar of his shirt, his pink lips and finally to his stare.
"Fifty grand."
You flinch subtly as he stands, placing his glass aside on the polished oak, sighing. His fingers graze the wood while he walks around his desk, dragging, until he finally stops mere inches in front of you. Polished shoes bracketing your feet.
Before you could look up yourself, his hands hold your cheeks, thumbs grazing the underside of your chin until you share a breath.
"You should be grateful I chose you. You understand?"
You nod and repeat the affirmation under your breath, a mere sigh as you try your best to hold his stare. He keeps pressing, his gaze boring into your own, licking his lips, so close you could almost taste him. He held it down hard, tipping his head, clenching his jaw, willing you to snap at any moment.
When he spoke next, it came softer. An insurmountable gentleness that made your lips part. "No one else is worthy of my touch. I chose you for a reason, a reason I barely even understand myself. But do not make me regret that."
"I won't." You say stiffly. "I won't make you regret it."
Playlist Prompt: Somebody That I Used To Know - Gotye / “Like when you said you felt so happy you could die”
Warnings: Roleplay, mention of death, D/s vibes, mention of safeword,smut undertone, tied up, Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 9 of the June Jukebox Scribbles Challenge by @societynsoelsscribbles . ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Nick circled you slowly, like he had all the time in the world to do so. He must’ve felt smug since it didn’t take much for him to capture you. At least he took care in making sure the ropes weren’t digging into your skin too much.
He didn’t give your partner the same treatment, from what he told you.
Put a bullet in his head.
“You know, I remember every single thing you’ve ever said to me.”
You didn’t respond to that. What could you say? He was the head of the CIA, and you were a lowly agent.
It didn’t make sense why he’d pay attention to or care about you.
“Like when we met and you complimented me on my tie.” He smiled gently. “You said it matched my eyes.”
You bit your tongue. It was a small compliment. But it seemed to mean more to him.
“And like when you said you felt so happy you could die when we were stuck in the elevator.”
“I didn’t say that,” you said softly.
“I know,” he said, smirking when he brushed a thumb along your cheek. “Just making sure you’re paying attention to me.”
As if he’d let your attention drift elsewhere.
“What did you say?” he asked.
You bit your tongue when his hand slid to your throat and rested there.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“I said ‘green’, Sir,” you whispered, breaking character because you had to.
Green was your safeword.
He smiled. “Happy anniversary.”
Today was your six month anniversary.
Six months of roleplaying and him fucking you like a man possessed. And taking care of you after like you were something for him to cherish. He always put you back together after he broke you.
And he was going to do it again tonight.
Nick can do whatever he wants. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
Warnings: Dark tension, possessive Nick, suggestive touch, manipulation, morally grey dynamic
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 30th - Don’t Speak - No Doubt / “Aren’t we?”
You stood in the low light of the hotel suite, your pulse still sharp from the high-stakes meeting. Specifically, from the tense moment you had dared to correct Nick in front of powerful men who were supposed to see you both as a united front.
Nick’s reflection appeared in the dark window pane, a looming, predatory shadow closing the distance behind you.
“You enjoyed that,” he murmured.
You lifted your chin, staring at his glass-bound gaze. “Enjoyed what, Nick?”
His mouth curved down near your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver through your hair. “You embarrassed me, sweetheart.”
His heavy hand settled at your waist. His voice was rough. When you didn't pull away, his fingers slid lower with dangerous patience, popping the button of your pants open.
“For someone so determined to fight me in public, you stand very still when I get close in private.”
Your hand flew down to catch his wrist, but you didn't actually push him away. His sharp smile brushed your flushed temple.
“Come on,” he coaxed, his tone soft enough to sound kind if you didn't know the monster beneath the suit. “We’re on the same side. Aren’t we?”
Nick’s hand slid beneath the lace of your underwear. Letting the pads of his fingers graze over your dripping heat, a torturous tease that made your knees weak. His middle finger coaxed its way to your swollen clit, circling it, sending electric sparks straight to your core.
You let out a shaky, broken breath.
“Maybe I’m reconsidering my position,” you voice strained.
Nick’s free hand slid up to your throat. He increased the friction, a slow, heavy grind that promised everything and gave nothing, pressing harder.
“Is that so?” he breathed against your sensitive collarbone. “Then tell me exactly whose side you’re on.”
Which babe would make the best, yet most unexpected, daddy?
🌿
Oh, I had to sit with this one for a bit.. since I’ve already written a few of my babes as fathers; Loki, Bucky, Thor, Curtis.. and some already are canonically dads, like Andy and Jefferson..
But the unexpected one? That one had me thinking... But it hit me today!
Nick Fowler.
Because I can imagine him being so careful to ensure that a baby wouldn't ever happen..
This is a man who has spent too long understanding leverage. Weak points. The danger of having something someone else could use against you.
I think part of him would have written that life off completely. A home. A child. Something ordinary and warm and terrifyingly breakable..
But also because Nick knows what he is. He knows the lines he has crossed. He knows there are parts of himself he cannot uncross.
And then it happens.
Suddenly there is this tiny person in the world who has none of his sins, none of his sharp edges and he has to decide what to do with the fact that he loves them.
Nick can live in duality. We know that. He can be charming. Controlled. Ruthless. He can play whatever role he needs to play and make people believe it.
So stepping into fatherhood?
At first, maybe it is another role.
He learns the routines. The right voice. The gentle hands. The way to hold them like they are something soft instead of something strategic.
But somewhere along the way, the performance slips.
Nick's not pretending when he checks the locks twice. He is not pretending when he stands in the doorway just to watch them sleep. He is not pretending when he lowers his voice, softens his hands, and becomes almost painfully patient with this little life that trusts him completely.
Nick Fowler would never be an obvious father.
But I think he would be an unexpectedly devoted one.
The kind who would never say he was scared.
But would build the whole world into something safer because he was.
